“Yes;—­of your own knowledge.”  Then Mr. Kennedy walked away, and was certain that his wife had deceived him about the duel.  There had been a duel, and she had known it; and yet she had told him that the report was a ridiculous fabrication.  He never forgot anything.  He remembered at this moment the words of the falsehood, and the look of her face as she told it.  He had believed her implicitly, but he would never believe her again.  He was one of those men who, in spite of their experience of the world, of their experience of their own lives, imagine that lips that have once lied can never tell the truth.

Lady Laura’s letter to Phineas was as follows: 

   Loughlinter, December 28th, 186—.

   MY DEAR FRIEND,

Violet Effingham is here, and Oswald has just left us.  It is possible that you may see him as he passes through London.  But, at any rate, I think it best to let you know immediately that she has accepted him,—­at last.  If there be any pang in this to you, be sure that I will grieve for you.  You will not wish me to say that I regret that which was the dearest wish of my heart before I knew you.  Lately, indeed, I have been torn in two ways.  You will understand what I mean, and I believe I need say nothing more;—­except this, that it shall be among my prayers that you may obtain all things that may tend to make you happy, honourable, and of high esteem.

   Your most sincere friend

   LAURA KENNEDY.

Even though her husband should read the letter, there was nothing in that of which she need be ashamed.  But he did not read the letter.  He simply speculated as to its contents, and inquired within himself whether it would not be for the welfare of the world in general, and for the welfare of himself in particular, that husbands should demand to read their wives’ letters.

And this was Violet’s letter to her aunt:—­

   MY DEAR AUNT,

The thing has come at last, and all your troubles will be soon over;—­for I do believe that all your troubles have come from your unfortunate niece.  At last I am going to be married, and thus take myself off your hands.  Lord Chiltern has just been here, and I have accepted him.  I am afraid you hardly think so well of Lord Chiltern as I do; but then, perhaps, you have not known him so long.  You do know, however, that there has been some difference between him and his father.  I think I may take upon myself to say that now, upon his engagement, this will be settled.  I have the inexpressible pleasure of feeling sure that Lord Brentford will welcome me as his daughter-in-law.  Tell the news to Augusta with my best love.  I will write to her in a day or two.  I hope my cousin Gustavus will condescend to give me away.  Of course there is nothing fixed about time;—­but I should say, perhaps, in nine years.

   Your affectionate niece,

   VIOLET EFFINGHAM.